The Strange Death of Father Candy by Les Roberts

Author:Les Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was almost eleven o’clock when I parked in the driveway of Alfonso’s house. There was no more rain, though the streets were shiny wet, and the temperature had plummeted throughout the evening. There was a chill in my chest that had nothing to do with the weather.

I hadn’t grown up in a lovely house like this one. It wasn’t a mansion, or even a mini-mansion, but it was elegant all the same, and advertised the comfort in which Alfonso and Dolores enjoyed themselves.

A light burned in one of the windows downstairs, and another one glowed upstairs, but I didn’t know whether they’d gone to bed. I didn’t care if I woke them up. Now it had become important.

I rang the bell three times, five seconds each time over the course of about a minute, waiting for someone to answer. Then I leaned on it.

Finally, there was a crackling noise in my ear—apparently, there was a speaker system inside—and Dolores’s angry and half-asleep voice came from the small speaker below the doorbell. “What?” she barked. “Who is this?”

“It’s Dominick, Dolores,” I said. “I want to talk to my brother.”

“It’s late.”

“No kidding,” I said. “I’ll have to wind my watch. Go wake him up.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“It’s important.”

“Kiss my ass!” Once more, with feeling.

I didn’t respond this time, but leaned on the buzzer instead. She screamed the epithet several more times, and dusted off some new ones, until she realized I could ring the bell longer than she could shout obscenities into the speaker. Then she clicked off.

Finally, Alfonso yanked open the front door, his hair mussed, his cheeks puffy around the eyes, and his evening stubble showing. He was wearing pajama bottoms and a Cleveland Browns T-shirt, covered with a ratty bathrobe. His feet were bare and he looked madder than hell.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind?” he said. “What are you, drunk? Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing—I’m just peachy keen.” I pushed past him into the foyer.

His voice was thin with irritation. “Go back to the hotel and go to bed. You’re on vacation here, Nicky, but I have to work in the morning.”

Dolores had come halfway down the stairs, looking even more furious than her husband. She was wearing a silky nightgown with a sheer robe thrown over it, and her face was heavily made up, eyelashes blackened by kohl and her mouth painted into a thick clown’s mouth with almost purple lipstick. She seemed to be waiting anxiously for Mr. DeMille’s close-up. I thought only movie stars went to bed looking like that—movie stars or hookers. Or maybe she just hadn’t cold-creamed her makeup off yet.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” she said, her scratchy voice sounding like the Wicked Witch of the West’s. “Nobody wants you here.”

I ignored her, pleased that Alfonso didn’t pay any attention to her, either. “Can we talk in your den?”

He automatically looked at his wrist, but he wasn’t wearing a watch. Most people don’t when they go to bed. Still, he shook his head.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.